


Slowly

by Rhysand_vs_Fenrys



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M, Nessian - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 04:09:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14608983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rhysand_vs_Fenrys/pseuds/Rhysand_vs_Fenrys
Summary: Cassian returns from a fierce Illyrian civil war weary and on edge. Nesta wants to welcome her lover home after weeks away, but she knows the lust that comes on the heels of bloodshed has been building in Cassian the entire time he’s been gone. Both desperately want to be with one another, but for Nesta’s sake he must shove down the Illyrian and proceed slowly.





	Slowly

**Slowly**

 

The list's arrival came, as it did each morning, with a soft knock at the door.

There was nothing behind the knock- no hand of flesh or shadow. It was as if the door itself decided to voice the arrival.

 _Tap, tap, tap_ \- the knock was soft, and it always came in three. No one in the house would be woken by it, most wouldn’t even hear.

Of course, of those that lived in the townhouse only one was left behind to await that dreaded list.

Nesta was sitting on the floor of the hallway, right beside the door with a mug of steaming coffee in her hands. That list had become her obsession these past few weeks since Cassian left. She wanted to stop waiting for it, but as the days crawled by and those lists of dead and injured arrived the knot in her stomach only grew. She wasn’t even properly sleeping anymore. All she could think about when she closed her eyes was the precise amount of time remaining before the next morning’s delivery.

_Tap, tap, tap._

The mail slot opened and a scroll slid through onto Nesta’s lap. She set her coffee down hard and immediately broke the seal on it, then quickly scanned the list of names.

No Cassian.

Something eased in Nesta’s chest. She took a few deep, hard breaths before looking down at the list again. Twenty-seven names without any marking beside them against more than a hundred names divided between a dozen clans.

A piece of her heart cracked at those twenty-seven names. Those were males and females who fought alongside Rhysand’s forces. The hundred other names- they were the enemy.

Nesta thought Hybern’s defeat was the end of bloodshed- or as close as they could get with the Queen’s still out for blood. The last thing anyone anticipated was an Illyrian uprising.

Some of the most powerful camps were decimated by Hybern, and now stood weaker than they’d been in centuries. Old rivalries came out in force, with every Camp Lord trying to take advantage of the slaughter to wipe an enemy or two off the board entirely. Territory lines were being redrawn, and new blood feuds declaired by the minute.

Rhysand, Azriel, Cassian, and Feyre had gone into the Illyrian Steppes to try and help negotiate peace. Their troubles weren’t over, the armies might need to rise again, and so every Illyrian death was a blow to Prythian as a whole. 

When a sizeable force turned against them open war was declared. Nesta had skipped that original trip to the steppes, believing her presence might put the other clan leaders on edge rather than convince them to set aside their squabbles. After the fighting began she never had a chance to rejoin her family.

Battles were being fought daily, and as far as Nesta knew they were still far from a resolution. Rhysand could simply snap his fingers and command them as their High Lord to go home, but he knew that was only a temporary solution that could very well lead to greater strife between the camps later on. He was painted into a corner as both an Illyrian and the High Lord of Night. In the end, open warfare was the only option left.

Nesta had  _begged_  Feyre to winnow back to Velaris and retrieve her, but the grueling pace of an Illyrian warband meant she would only get in the way. Cassian advised Nesta’s sister that it was typical for the grounded females of one camp to attack the other while the males fought in the skies above. No one could guarantee her safety and focus on the battles ahead.

 _I’m sorry Nes,_  he’d asked Feyre to send his message when she managed to latch onto Nesta’s mind,  _I can’t protect you here. I need you to stay in Velaris. I need to know you’re alright._

There was another reason, one left unsaid as Nesta passed on her farewell: He didn’t want her to see the kind of male he became when brother slaughtered brother.

Mor was left behind to handle the day-to-day of the Night Court while Rhys and Feyre were gone. Elain and Lucien kept busy up at the House of Wind digging trenches and building flowerbeds for the new gardens, and Amren was spending the summer with Varian in Tarquin’s Court. Even Nuala and Cerridwen were gone- one staying by Mor’s side to keep an eye on the Court of Nightmares, and the other gathering battle plans from their Illyrian enemies.

Meaning Nesta was left alone to worry.

Cassian had given her basic self-defense lessons, but there was only so much practice Nesta could do on her own. She was too nervous to read and Bryaxis had a distinct preference for Elain’s company over hers. She even went to Feyre’s studio in the Rainbow once to try painting- when she was home before returning to Prythian her little sister had given her lessons after all- but nothing held her focus for long. 

Not when her friends and family were off fighting.

Alone in the townhouse, another day of  _nothing_  stretched before Nesta. More likely than not, it would be followed by a restless night until, approximately twenty-four hours from that very moment, the next list arrived.

A clap of thunder sounded from the kitchen and Nesta scrambled to her feet as fast as her fae body would allow. That sound meant someone had winnowed in, and it certainly wouldn’t be Mor at this hour.

Nesta heard a female panting as she rounded the corner, but even so it did not prepare her for the sight of her little sister.

Feyre looked like hell.

She’d lost weight in the war camp, and newly defined muscle corded her arms. Her wings sagged dangerously close to the ground as she looked at the townhouse, her gaze ever unfocused. She was assessing every last thing in the room, as though an attack might come from anywhere. When Nesta ran around the corner, Feyre pulled her sword from its sheath faster than seemed possible even for a fae.

Nesta stopped immediately, “It’s me.” She held up her hands, showing off her lack of weapon beyond the mostly-empty mug.

It took a few heartbeats for Feyre’s vision to clear and relief to spread across her face. The sword returned to its leather sheath and, with a sigh, sheer exhaustion replaced the tension in her body.

“I’m sorry Nesta. We were attacked at sunrise yesterday. The fighting only just stopped.” Her voice was a dry rasp, very nearly gone.

“Where are the others? Are they alright?” Rhysand obviously was, but Cassian and Azriel’s lives weren’t tied to Feyre’s. If the fighting only just ended, would the names of the dead and wounded have been on that morning’s list?

“No, the list was from midday yesterday, last night’s casualties weren’t on it.” Feyre answered automatically, if a bit breathlessly. In the fighting they’d relied on the mental links as much as spoken word, and Nesta’s shields weren’t up. “Cass and Az are alright. It’s over- the other clans finally surrendered.”

Relief threatened to knock Nesta’s legs out from under her. She wanted to hug her little sister, but Feyre was looking around in a daze.

Nesta moved to the stove, where a pot of coffee was still hot and fresh. Feyre flinched at the sudden movement, her whole body going tense once more. Nesta froze immediately. Slowly, she opened the cabinet and took a large mug out. Nesta filled it with coffee, poured a dash of cream in, and cautiously offered it to Feyre.

“I’m sorry,” Feyre said again. She accepted the coffee and breathed in its scent, “I haven’t slept in days. When the other camps realized they were going to lose their generals just kept throwing troops at us blindly.”

She obviously didn’t want to talk about what she’d seen, not yet. Feyre was numb, exhausted, and tense. Nesta had noticed the lists of dead and injured were getting longer and longer over the last few days. It was what caused her own sleepless nights. 

The fighting was ferocious, and once she made sure none of her friend’s names were on those lists she’d studied them closely and tried to gauge the tide of war.

“Are you going back? Do you want me to make some food for everyone?” Nesta hated cooking, but she’d been sitting on her ass while her sister and friends suffered. She would do anything to help.

Feyre didn’t answer at first. She just took a long, slow drink of coffee and let it warm her. She needed water, but for the first time in three brutal weeks she’d been given something comforting, not practical. Her body might not appreciate it, but her soul did.

“They’ll stay until tonight,” Feyre rasped. “They’re drawing up the surrender documents, healing the wounded, and sorting things out. Azriel and Rhys are putting fae in place to make sure no one tries anything once they’ve go. After that paper is signed we’re not Illyrians, we’re High Lord and Lady again. If they break the terms of surrender they’ll be put down without the mercy of a battle.” A snarl lit her face by the time she’d finished.

“Easy,” Nesta said softly. Feyre eyes twitched, but she forced her grip on her mug to ease before it shattered. “Can I make you some breakfast?” Her sister hadn’t answered the question before, but Nesta got the impression she was home for good.

“Not eggs or bacon,” Feyre finally mumbled. “I’m sick of eggs and bacon.”

“If I make extra food, can you winnow it to the camp for the others?”

There was another pause, then Feyre nodded, “Rhys will gather it. He said he’ll have you canonized as a saint if you throw in hash browns.”

Nesta began slowly, but by the time she’d finished grating potatoes into thin slivers caution left her. Feyre was so focused on her coffee she didn’t seem to mind Nesta as much. Still- the oldest Archeron knew something wasn’t right with her little sister. Rhys wouldn’t send Feyre home, no matter that the fighting was over. Even if he tried, she wouldn’t agree. They’d fought according to Illyrian custom to prove they were Illyrian as much as Cassian or Azriel. 

Now Feyre was snarling threats as the High Lady of Night. It was more than battle-fatigue. Something happened.

“Need a refill?” Nesta mixed the potato with oil and butter before dumping it into a large skillet. She set some breakfast sausage to fry, and was preparing to chop fresh fruit.

“Please.” Feyre finished off the last of her coffee.

Nesta brought the pot over and refilled her mug before she could stand- but made sure to half-circle the table so that Feyre knew she was coming. Surprising her even a little might end in bloodshed.

“You’re hurt?” Nesta couldn’t tell properly, there was grime and sweat caked on Feyre’s leathers, but it was the only explanation she could think of.

“Yes and no,” Feyre’s body seemed to sag, and a darkness crept into her eyes. “I can’t fight with the aerial legions, I’m not used to their formations, so I was left to help when it turned into a melee... around midnight my wings were shattered. Azriel saw the male slip through the lines- I think he was dead by the time the blow connected.”

She shuddered at the memory, and Nesta’s stomach dropped. Feyre’s wings weren’t like the other Illyrians. They were formed by the shapeshifting magic she’d claimed from Tamlin. She could simply drop the broken wings and reform them at will- but that didn’t protect her from the pain or fear.

“Don’t feel sorry for me,” Feyre took Nesta’s hand in hers. “I’m fine. Others were hit harder... and Cassian keeps telling me he still wins by one set of broken wings. Rhys- he misted an entire legion.”

Nesta gulped and nodded. Feyre released her to finish making breakfast.

Along with the sausage, hashbrowns, and sliced fruit she included the largest pot of coffee she could make. She piled a plate high with more food than Feyre could ever eat and the rest simply vanished the moment Nesta put plate to table.

There was a pause while Feyre picked up her fork and simply breathed in the scent of her food. She smiled and looked to her sister, “Rhys, Cassian, and Azriel all send  _emphatic_  thanks. Rhys is putting a shield around the tent so no one else comes sniffing. From me too, thank you Nesta.”

It struck her then how  _young_  Feyre was, and all that she’d already endured in her time. 

She was the youngest of the siblings, eternally a child to Nesta’s eyes. She ate her breakfast with the same reverence she had on those rare days they had food, back when poverty laid them low and Nesta did everything in her power to ensure they were miserable. It was a punishment for the father who simply left their family to rot… but also for Feyre, who took over to make up for his shortcomings.

Nesta had grown bitter and cruel, and lashed out at Feyre until her sister became as bitter as she… and then everything with Tamlin and Rhys and  _Prythian_  happened. Now, Feyre ruled over an entire Court with all the power of a Queen. She was a wise, patient, and kind leader the people of Night adored. She was the sort of Queen who went into battle herself, and wasn’t afraid to wet her sword if it meant others would be spared from the worst of the world.

In many ways, she was still that little huntress just fighting to help others survive, only on a much grander scale.

“You didn’t save any food for yourself?” Feyre glanced around the kitchen.

“I had something earlier,” Nesta lied. “Go ahead and eat, there’s more coffee in the pot if you need it. I’ll go start the water running for a bath. Can I convince you to take a nap when you’re done?”

“I have to wait until I’m done?” Feyre tried to smile, but her energy was fading fast. It was  _days_  since she’d had more than a couple of hours rest.

Nesta (slowly) took Feyre’s hand and gave it a comforting squeeze. She felt like babying her sister. It was the least she could do after staying in comfort at the townhouse the whole time her friends were off fighting.

On her way upstairs, Nesta ducked into her own bathroom and retrieved a small jar of scented bath salts, courtesy of Madja. They were for the days when her cycle came hardest, nearly crippling her as her body cramped. In a broader sense, the salts released a gentle tonic that soaked into stiff muscles and forced them to relax. 

Feyre looked like she needed it more than Nesta ever had.

When Feyre’s tub was nearly full, Nesta opened her jar and measured out a few spoonfulls of salts. They turned the water a soft shade of green and in an instant the bathroom was filled with the scents of lavender and chamomile.

An exhausted, appreciative  _sniff_  from behind told her Feyre approved.

“It should help relax your muscles,” Nesta waved Feyre closer. She wanted to make absolutely clear that the water was medicated. To Feyre’s battle-ready mind it might be perceived as an attack if she suddenly noticed an unusual response by her body when it touched the water.

“I haven’t properly bathed in three weeks,” Feyre mumbled, staring at the coiling steam. She’d removed the outer shell of grime from herself already, but it felt like three weeks of sweat, dirt, and blood clogged her skin.

With great effort, Feyre convinced her magic to release the Illyrian wings and settle one more into High Fae form. She groaned as muscles were redistributed and a great weight vanished from her back, throwing her slightly off balance.

“Do you need help with the clasps?” Nesta eyed her armor.

“Yes, please.” The outer layer would be increasingly difficult to remove as Feyre was forced to lift her arms above hip-level.

When the outer armor came off though, Nesta wasn’t prepared for what she saw. A massive purple and black bruise covered most of Feyre’s shoulders and neck. Though it vanished beneath a loose shirt, she could clearly see bruises and welts shining through the thin fabric.  Feyre’s healing powers made quick work of bruises, but these were layered time and again over one another. If that was what the flesh looked like, Nesta hated to think about the damage to the muscle beneath.

“It’ll be fine in a few days,” Feyre was used to the concern. Rhys fussed over her every night in the tent, even as she worried over his own bruises.

“Is there anything that will speed up the healing?”

“Just time and rest,” Feyre offered a smile that didn’t quite reach her weary eyes.

“Alright, go soak. I’ll make sure the bed is ready for you when you’re done.”

“Thank you.”

While Feyre unlaced her boots and stripped away her final layers of battle-crusted clothing, Nesta drew the curtains of the bedroom outside and pulled the sheets down on Feyre’s side of her and Rhys’ massive bed. Nesta laid out a set of pajamas from her sister’s dresser and laid them on the foot of the bed- an offer if Feyre wanted to wear them, but not in the way if it was too difficult to pull them on.

Once the room was ready, Nesta left Feyre to the precious silence of the townhouse and headed downstairs to dress for the day. The sun was rising outside, and for the first time in weeks, Nesta finally had something to do that could help her friends.

She was going to prepare for everyone’s return.

\---

* * *

 

\---

Nesta finished her shopping relatively early, but she stayed away from the house all the same. Feyre was battle-weary and on edge. She likely would be for a long while yet. After weeks in a war camp and the constant threat of attack, Nesta was willing to bet her little sister would appreciate silence and solitude, at least for a few hours.

She put the Sidra to her left and strolled down along one side, stopped at a quiet café near the ocean, then crossed one of its many brides and began the trek across the city towards her favorite book store. In the weeks after killing Hybern the shop became a haven for her that the library of Velaris never would be. The library had been breached, and both she and Feyre had nearly died. The bookstore was quiet, slightly claustrophobic, and filled with the rich smell of paper and old leather.

One day… one day Nesta wondered if she might enjoy running a book shop. She could picture it sometimes- Elain making little pastries or snacks, Feyre’s paintings dotting the walls to show off characters or settings from favorite tales, and Nesta standing at the ready to help others discover entire universes tucked between leather spines.

A quiet place in the heart of this strange and wonderful city. Somewhere to find peace among the chaos, an island of solitude with Cassian between battles.

Of course, that was a future she thought of only half the time. Despite herself and contrary to everything she’d felt after killing Hybern, a piece of Nesta’s heart still dreamt of adventure and fighting. Maybe that little bookshop café was too small for who she had become.

Once Nesta reached her favorite store, she turned back towards the Townhouse. Her meandering walk added a few hours to those already spent shopping. The shadows were growing long in the city, and soon enough it would be time for her strange new family to return from war.

_Next time… I think I want to go with them._

Or was it just that she was sick of feeling useless whenever they left her behind?

“Lady Archeron!” a boy’s voice called from behind her as she rounded the corner and spied her home in the distance.

It wasn’t hard to tell who was calling on the crowded street.

He was barely chest-high, a small youngling, and the cart he pushed along was piled with containers higher than his own head. She couldn’t help but snicker at the sight of the overwhelmed delivery boy.

“I have your order, Lady Archeron,” he panted as he drew up beside her and slowed to match her step. “Momma said she threw in some special water and to ask you to make sure they drink it all. It will help their bodies recover from the fighting.” The water was an early concoction of Madja’s that most warriors, athletes, and laborers in the Night Court now drank to help recover from dehydration.

“Tell your mother she has my thanks,” Nesta offered a rare smile to the boy. “Do you have many deliveries tonight?”

His neck craned as he inspected the boxes and cases on his cart, “Four after this one.”

When they reached the front of the Townhouse, Nesta pulled an extra few coins from her purse and gave them to the boy, “Make sure you buy all the sweets from the shop down the street. Ruin your appetite before dinner, it’s an order.”

Beaming, the boy piled her order into her arms and ran off into the city.

“How the hell do you expect to open the door with all of that?” a male voice drawled from the second floor windows. “You should have tipped him  _and_  had him help carry it all in.”

“We can’t all be lazy swine,” Nesta looked up and smiled to Rhysand. He just snorted and flicked his wrist, opening the door for his sister-in-law.

Their peace was an occasionally volatile one. She knew Rhysand held grudges Feyre had long since let go of, and Nesta almost appreciated her sister’s mate holding her to account. She felt incredible guilt for all that she’d put Feyre through growing up. Ever the non-confrontational one, her little sister simply refused to make her atone. 

Rhys knew Nesta was trying to earn some sort of redemption. 

Nesta knew Rhys was trying to find a way to forgive her.

For now, they understood one another and did what they could to maintain equilibrium, until true peace could be achieved.

The youngest Archeron came down the stairs as Nesta negotiated entry with several pounds of food in her arms. She hurried to her sister’s side and lifted a small but precariously balanced box off the top, then groaned appreciatively at the smell that wafted from inside.

“Is that chocolate?”

Nesta chuckled as she took the lead, carrying three more balanced boxes (plus two cloth bags of drinks) into the dining room, “A chocolate silk pie.”

“What’s the occasion?” Rhys was behind her in an instant, “Brace-“

She locked her arms and nodded. At her signal, Rhys winnowed the heavy drink bags onto the table. He reached out a hand in case the sudden shift in weight sent the rest of the food flying, but she managed the transition just fine, “Thank you Rhys, and the occasion is everyone’s return. I hate cooking and didn’t want to bang around the kitchen and disturb Feyre’s rest, so I ordered delivery.”

Rhys’ interest was piqued immediately and he watched the remaining boxes in her arms with a predatory focus typically reserved for his wife, “What kind of delivery?”

“Things you can't find in an Illyrian war camp.” Nesta set the boxes down and opened the lids to sort through their contents, “Potatoes roasted with garlic and onion, fried zucchini, seasoned broccoli, asparagus in a lemon walnut sauce for Azriel, and bell peppers stuffed with spiced rice and black beans. For the main dish-“ she opened the largest box-  _Cauldron_ , they were still sizzling- “steak with a sweet teriyaki glaze, prepared in the Dawn Court style.”

The shuddering groans those scents drew from Rhys and Feyre both were vaguely sexual.

“Comfort food.” Nesta turned back with a smile. “And the magic Sevenda uses will keep everything hot and fresh, so whenever the others get back-“ her voice trailed off, expectant.

“About that…” Rhys sighed (an excuse to take a deep lungful of those scents) and glanced to Feyre. Her sister’s eyes grew distant a moment, and Nesta knew to wait patiently until the couple was finished with their slightly grating mind-speak.

Feyre motioned for her to sit. Nesta obeyed, but only because what lit both her sister and brother-in-law’s eyes was embarrassment more than sadness or regret, “Nesta, we wanted to talk to you before the others got here… to warn you. I’m sorry, I was so tired earlier I didn’t-“

“It’s alright,” Nesta shrugged, “you’re telling me now.”

“Yes, well… The fighting was- it was ugly, and it was hard on Cassian especially. He’s a bit… edgy.”

“Traumatic stress fatigue?” Nesta knew the term well. It nearly destroyed her after that war with Hybern, and perhaps would have if Lucien hadn’t tricked her into accompanying Elain on a trip to Dawn to visit a mind-physician who dwelled there.

Feyre shook her head, “No, nothing like that. He’s just… it’ll take time to adjust. He might be rougher the first few days, a bit raw. I know-“ her sister coughed. She’d reached the awkward part.

Rhys let Feyre open and close her mouth a few times, then took over for his mate, “We know you and Cassian are intimate, and from personal experience we also know that you probably intend on being intimate as a ‘welcome home’ of sorts.”

Now it was Nesta who was red-faced. She wanted nothing more than to escape this conversation, but if they were breaching the topic at all- “Should I- we-  _not_ for a bit?”

“If you want to it’s fine, I don’t think Cassian would object. It certainly helps take the edge off faster.” Rhys found something on the wall worth staring at while he spoke, “But we wanted to warn you… it would probably be… um…” he trailed off.

“Not… gentle.” Feyre finished with a wince.

Rough. They were warning Nesta that the strain and anguish of battle might turn Cassian rough in bed.

“Thank you for the warning,” she looked down at her hands. “I understand and would like it if the subject changed.”

“I hate lemon walnut asparagus,” Rhys said immediately, shoving the container away. “Make Az sit on the far end of the table when he tucks into that. He has weird tastes.”

“I’d love a plate full of those potatoes,” Feyre joined her mate in his inspection of the food. Anything to escape a discussion on Nesta and Cassian’s sex life.

“When do the others get home then?” Nesta asked, “And is someone getting Elain and Lucien?”

Rhys shook his head, “They’re working on the third tier irrigation system and ran into some complications. Both are staying up at the House for another week to try and redesign something. Honestly I was barely listening after they said they didn’t need me to fly them down. Mor is taking a small vacation somewhere.”

There was a clap of thunder before Nesta could repeat her first question, and in an instant the entryway held two Illyrians just as edgy and exhausted as Feyre had been that morning- perhaps worse.

Azriel’s face was pale with exhaustion, and he was weaving slightly on his feet. His shadows blasted out, washing over the table and reading what his mind was too tired to process there. In an instant he was moving for the box of sizzling steaks. Rhys conjured plates from somewhere and handed one to him, along with a fork.

The Illyrian managed to spear meat onto his plate and immediately grabbed the entire container of asparagus. By way of greeting and thanks, he tipped over and kissed Nesta’s forehead on his way past. It was proof of just how tired he was- Azriel only showed affection or even mild interest in others when he was drunk or out of his mind.

“Where’s my kiss?” Rhys pouted. He let Feyre direct him to a smaller steak and loaded her plate for her, then floated canisters of enhanced water to his mate and Azriel both.

Having deposited most of his weapons in the hall, Cassian took his cue to enter and grabbed his brother’s head.

“Not you, no-“ Rhys’ protests came too late as Cassian delivered a loud and exaggerated kiss to the top of his head.

“Feyre, what the hell?” Cassian looked incredulously to her, “I’m doing your job for you.”

“Don’t worry, I already took care of the hard part.” She winked, then winced at Nesta’s red face, “Sorry, the camps were… very male.”

Nesta waved off her apology and stood, her eyes washing over Cassian and drinking in every last inch of him. His armor had a few new scrapes to it, and there were some bruises marring his hands, but overall he looked well. Only the sharp edge of his gaze belied the image of peace and calm he exuded in defiance of Feyre and Rhysand’s warning.

“How are you Nes?”

“I’m alright,” she said a bit softer than she normally would. There was a slight edge to his question, like he genuinely needed to hear her say it, “It’s quiet here.”  _Too quiet_. 

Cassian breathed a smile at last, the perfect answer to sooth the wounds to his heart and soul. He raised his eyebrows at the steaks and Nesta pointed to the one she wanted. She let Cassian prepare a plate for her with a tense ease, then waited until he’d filled his own before nodding to Rhysand.

With a wave of his hand, Rhys sent the last of the food off to Lucien and Elain up in the House of Wind. The chocolate pie-

-well, that wouldn’t be going anywhere.

“Where are Nuala and Cerridwen?” Nesta glanced in the dark corners of the room, just in case.

“Visiting their mother.” Azriel said through a mouthful of medium-rare meat. He moaned at the taste of it.

“They visit their mother a lot,” Cassian just happened to sit close enough to Nesta that their shoulders touched. “I’m beginning to think it’s code for something.”

“Probably,” Rhys agreed.

Azriel must have been too eager with his steak, because he choked on the bite he was trying to swallow.

They fell into a comfortable silence as everyone ate. Feyre was the only member of the group who looked somewhat alive, thanks to her nap. Though, whatever Rhys was doing with her upstairs before Nesta came home seemed to have taken his will to live. Dark bags hung beneath his eyes and when he breathed his entire body swayed.

Azriel was blinking his eyes at different speeds, and occasionally he had to scrunch his face and force the other eye to open again. He was paler than usual, and the blue siphons on his hands pulsed along with the beat of his heart- too slow for someone pretending they were awake.

Even Cassian was drawing on the last of his power to remain upright as he ate. He tried to muster that smirk of his, but it just wasn’t coming. His wings were draped across the floor behind him with zero concern for their wellbeing, and at one point he slowly tipped his head forward and froze. Nesta gave him a few moments, then nudged her lover until he grunted, sat up, and went back to chewing the steak in his mouth. 

Rhys and Feyre’s warning wasn’t in vain, but it wouldn’t be a concern that night. Cassian was too tired to eat, much less… exert himself.

Surrounded by fae clinging desperately to consciousness reminded Nesta just how many sleepless nights in a row she’d endured as she waited for some kind of word from her family. Tired as everyone else was, she was the first to yawn.

“Don’t you dare start that-“ Rhys’ words were punctuated by a replying yawn. “Oh gods, now I’m doing it.”

Azriel opened his mouth and yawned wide, barely bothering to raise a hand and cover it. When he yawned, a small roar came out.

Then it was Feyre’s turn.

Then Cassian’s.

Then… Nesta couldn’t help it. She yawned again.

“Eat food, then bed.” Rhys commanded, eyes closed.

Feyre nudged him awake as he swayed, “Eat,  _then_  bed.”

He nodded and though those eyes didn’t open, he began to chew again. Once he’d swallowed he elbowed his mate, “I’ll open my mind for you. Make my body keep eating. I’m going to bed.”

“Not happening,” Feyre speared the last few bites of potato from her plate and devoured them quickly while Rhys swayed. His own plate was mostly clear, only half a bell pepper left, “Come on. I can’t carry you upstairs.”

“Brush my teeth for me?” he was milking it for all he could.

“Brush your own teeth, or I demand sex before bed.” Once again, Feyre shot Nesta an apologetic wince.

“I’m too tired for sex,” Rhys groaned as he forced himself to stand.

“Then you’d better brush your own teeth.” He made some sort of sound akin to that of a whining infant and stomped off with a marginally more awake mate still holding him up.

“Lucien’s room has fresh sheets,” Nesta said to Azriel. There were no additional spare rooms in the townhouse that she knew of and he didn’t look like he’d survive the flight up to the House of Wind and his chambers there.

Azriel nodded and stood, “Thank you for dinner Nesta.” He used the table to hold himself upright as he walked around it. When his eyes fell on the untouched pie, she could have sworn he whispered “ _Breakfast_.”

“Bed?” Cassian tipped over to lay his head on her shoulder. It was a request for permission- to stay with her instead of flying up to the House. He was hoping for the same mercy Azriel had been shown.

“Bath first, then bed.”

Dishes vanished from the table as she nudged Cassian and helped him to his feet. Any rakish charm and mischief tended to disappear once eyes were off the pair. He threw an arm over her shoulder and held Nesta close as they walked out of the dining room and towards her bedchamber on the first floor.

Despite his obvious exhaustion, Cassian actually managed a long bath by himself (though Nesta sat at the edge of the tub with her feet in the water). Heat and the familiar scent of her soap seemed to revive him. Rhys had whisked away the grime from everyone’s skin before their return, but stubborn patches remained, and Cassian was more than happy to scrub them off. He washed his hair twice just because he could.

After he was rinsed and thoroughly dried, she left him to tend to any other needs he might have and went to fetch a candle from her dresser.

It was a spelled medicine Nesta’s mind-doctor in Dawn had given her to help with the worst nights after she killed Hybern. The scents within eased tension from her body while a soft net wrapped around anyone else who shared her space. If she lashed out suddenly in her sleep, it caught her in a gentle web that did not bind her, but did not allow her to harm to bedmate.

The candle’s magic was Hell for Elain, who’d tried to use it to protect Lucien from her violent fits. Rising from her nightmares to feel magic wrapped around her and holding tight only made her panic worse. For Nesta though it was a comforting presence. The Cauldron had been a void- the web reminded her she was contained and surrounded. Safe.

Cassian eyed the candle when he came out and breathed a sigh of relief, “I was going to ask if you wouldn’t mind.”

“That bad?” Nesta went to cup his cheek in her hand.

He nuzzled her hand a moment and offered a weary smile as exhaustion began to creep back in, “Not that bad. Just… too much tension. I had to react on gut instinct and just be... Illyrian. When we weren’t fighting we were arguing with bullheaded Camp Lords. I might be a bit jumpy the first couple nights, until I convince my body it’s safe. Home.”

Nesta resisted making the easy joke- that he’d been fighting or arguing for well over five hundred years, “You’ll tell me if there is anything I can do to help you?” She flicked his ear at the spark that lit his hazel eyes, “Other than just sex?”

“ _Just_  sex?” Cassian snorted as he led Nesta towards her bed, “What we do isn’t  _just_  sex. It’s perfect sex.”

“Alright, other than perfect sex?”

“The food, the bath, the candle, just being here-“ Cassian put a hand beneath her chin and kissed those full lips he loved so dearly, “you’ve already done everything.”

Nesta smiled up at him, then huffed a laugh. His eyes hadn’t opened again when he tipped back from the kiss, “Get in bed before you tip over. I’m going to clean up and then I’ll join you.”

Cassian nodded and reached a hand out in front of him as Nesta stepped to the side. He felt for the bed more than looked, and once he found its edge he simply collapsed onto the pillows, his wings tangled behind him and draped across the floor.

She rolled her eyes as his breath instantly slowed. He was unconscious before his head even hit the pillow.

Thirty minutes later, fresh from a bath of her own to wipe off the day’s grime, Nesta walked out of the bathroom to find Cassian somewhat adjusted. He’d found his way beneath the sheets, and his wings were angled more naturally to his sides. If he rolled over in his sleep he wouldn’t strain anything at least. The candle’s scent filled her bedroom, and it’s magic was laying over everything like a soft blanket.

That morning she’d been waiting with baited breath for the list of the injured.

Now she was standing beside her lover for the first time in a month, and every heavy breath from his lungs was music. Her Cassian, safe and whole.

Nesta crossed to her side of the bed and, careful not to disturb him, pulled the blankets aside. As soon as the movement shifted the blankets on his shoulder, Cassian’s whole body jerked. His eyes shot open and he sat up quickly only to hit the candle’s shield. Momentum was absorbed and Cassian found himself held fast.

“It’s alright,” Nesta said in a quick, smooth voice. “I’m just getting into bed, it’s alright.”

Cassian surveyed the room and, accepting that no one was trying to wake him to go fight once more, he relaxed his muscles and let the magic lower him back to his sheets. He said nothing, but the moment Nesta’s head settled onto her pillow a warm hand wrapped around her back and pulled her close. There was no groan of approval at her decision to forego pajamas, but he stroked her back a few times and made sure she was pressed against him, skin-to-skin.

Nesta rested her head on Cassian’s chest and listened to his heartbeat as it slowed, pulling him back to sleep. Still, his hands were firm against her, and his nose now rested against the top of her head so that every breath filled his lungs with her smell. 

The candle’s own relaxing power was completely useless against the comfort of knowing Nesta was beside him. Her presence drew tension from his body faster and more completely than any magic ever could.

\---

* * *

 

\---

When she woke, still secure in Cassian’s arms, Nesta felt herself smiling. She kept her eyes closed and simply enjoyed the scent of him seeping through that of her soap on his body. Cinnamon. It was different than the sticks kept in the spice cabinet, somehow solid and tangy and  _real_. 

Perfectly Cassian, and wholly unique.

But the sweetness that lay under it-

“You can’t fool me,” Nesta mumbled, shoving back slightly. Cassian’s face was the perfect image of one happily lost to dreams. But on the side of his mouth- “You got into the pie.”

A single eye opened and a grin bloomed across his face, “For the record, I wasn’t the first one. Azriel left approximately one slice for each person and took the rest back to his room.”

“What time is it?” Nesta had no windows and no clock in her bedchamber.

“Around three?” Cassian eased his arms open so that Nesta could look at him comfortably, “I don’t know when we all went to bed, but the sun was still up.”

“I thought you’d sleep for an entire day.”

He shrugged, “In the camps we got used to running on empty. After a few days I’ll probably crash for a week.”

Tension had eased considerably from his form with just a pleasant night’s sleep and a full stomach, but even so there was something at the very edge of him, a darkness it would take Cassian a bit of time to escape. 

No, this wasn’t the same howling beast that the doctors called Traumatic Stress Fatigue- the plague that nearly devoured each Archeron in turn. It was something born of anger and wrath, of the blood of his brothers and his people. It was no less serious, but Cassian knew his mind and self well enough to face that particular enemy.

She’d been too closed off to ask for help on her own, but Cassian wasn’t. Not where family was concerned. 

For all his bravado and arrogance, he knew when to show weakness and when to draw strength from those around him. He knew what she was still struggling to accept: Their family cared about them, and loved them even for their faults. No matter what, no matter how raw or exhausted they felt, Azriel, Rhysand, Feyre, Amren, Mor, Elain, Lucien, Nesta- they would all give whatever strength they possessed if Cassian needed it.

“Is everyone else up too?” Nesta didn’t want to leave the bed, but she also didn’t want to be the only one staying in.

“Az was already back in his room with the pie when I went out, and I think I saw Rhys’ naked ass running upstairs with a couple plates, so I’m betting they’re not coming out any time soon. Everyone’s just enjoying the quiet... Oh, I put a protection spell around your piece, just in case Azriel decides he’s suicidal.”

“My hero,” Nesta laughed. Azriel could be a danger to himself sometimes, particularly where sugar was concerned.

Cassian studied Nesta’s face as she laughed, though his own was close enough to share breath. There was wonder in his eyes, and weariness. Nesta’s laugh was a guiding light in the darkness he’d endured for weeks on end, and just being near her was a balm to his weary soul.

He couldn’t help himself- when that laughter subsided, Cassian lowered himself and claimed Nesta’s mouth.

The kiss started off gentle, but within moments a hand pulled at Nesta’s chin, opening her mouth for his tongue. She was taken aback slightly, but returned the kiss all the same. Cassian never manhandled her in bed, or if he did it was after they’d been making love a while and she was feeling particularly adventurous.

Nesta’s heart beat a little faster as his kiss intensified beyond what she could keep up with, and a shiver went through her. If he would just ease a bit and let her catch up, she would be fine. But Cassian shifted his body over hers, completing the image of a pouncing male.

_It would probably be… quite…_

_Not, um… gentle._

Rhys and Feyre’s warning flickered into Nesta’s mind.

Rough wasn’t a problem, but only if Nesta felt as though she were in control, or at least keeping pace. Cassian was moving too fast, and Nesta knew she couldn’t catch up in time.

He wasn’t oblivious to that fact.

“Tell me to stop,” he broke their kiss only long enough to force the words out before his mouth latched on to her neck.

Though their mating bond was inactive, Nesta felt the occasional flicker from him, especially when they were in bed. She could feel the conflict in him- the Cassian she loved was struggling desperately to hold back his base Illyrian instincts. They had guided him in battle for the past three weeks, but now that the Illyrian had a taste of it’s mate’s flesh-

_No matter what, no matter when, if you tell me to stop I will._

It was a promise made three months before. No matter how much Nesta used Cassian’s words to torment him in bed (as she had their first time together), he never once ignored her. His Illyrian instincts may have been etched into his very blood, but that pledge was marked on his soul.

“Stop.” He obeyed her words in an instant, and a flicker of relief came down their not-quite-bond.

Cassian shifted his weight so that it was no longer pressing against Nesta’s naked body, giving her leave to escape the bed. It was her decision- stay or go. She could call it off and tell him to come back only after he’d burned off the tension and energy in his body. Cassian would obey, and he’d fly around the city all day until exhaustion forced him home. 

Then again the next day. 

Then again, until that battle-lust was back under control and Cassian was used to being himself once more. If she asked, he would stay away.

But-

 _It does help take the edge off faster,_ Rhys’ part in the warning flashed through her mind. 

Nesta knew from experience more than anything the truth in those words. She’d seen Rhysand prowling through the war camp when they fought Hybern with the same intensity in his eyes that Cassian was now buried under. She was no innocent- when Feyre pulled him into their tent for a quick “meeting” Nesta knew what was going on. 

Afterwards Rhysand was indeed more like the asshole High Lord she’d come to know.

“You’re going too fast.” Nesta panted. She brushed Cassian’s hair back to hold his face and coax the male from wherever the Illyrian had him trapped. He moaned at her touch and nipped at her palm. Cassian turned his head and drew her entire thumb into his mouth, then pressed his hips down against hers. “ _Stop_ , you’re like a horny teenager.”

Cassian released Nesta’s finger and lifted his hips until the tip of his cock was barely touching her mound, “Fae are immortal, so long as we behave. Depending on when I finally pass into the veil these may very well be considered my teenage years.”

“Oh, so you intend to start behaving? Prythian will be relieved to hear it.”

When he laughed his hips lowered and his cock brushed through the close-trimmed hair between her legs. Cassian’s eyes flickered, and the hungry Illyrian pushed him aside once more.

“I know it’s too fast,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “That’s why I wanted you to make me stop.” He cast his gaze to the door with monumental difficulty, “ _Please_.”

He wanted her to leave, or command him to.

Nesta considered it carefully, keeping an eye on Cassian all the while. There was no risk of his strength flagging as he perched over her, but his hips began to lower once more, “Stop and let me think.” They lifted instantly. She could lay naked beneath him for hours and he would always back away when she told him to.

Of course, the more he resisted the less she saw of the Cassian she loved in those hazel eyes. He was still her mate, Nesta knew that at his core he was no different, she just preferred his tame side, at least for their first coupling after a long absence. The way he was looking at her, the lay of his wings, and the sheer size of him- he was perched over her more like some hungry cat. Every inch of him was predator, and she was his prey.

It gave her an idea.

“On your back,” Nesta slid out from beneath Cassian at last. He tipped onto his side and sunk to the bed, weary. “ _On your back_ , and scoot down a bit.”

“As my female commands.” He hardly even sounded like Cassian anymore.

“As your  _mate_  commands.” She pulled on the mantle of aloof arrogance to remind Cassian her iron will remained strong.

Any flicker of her friend and lover left in those eyes vanished.  The Illyrian was wholly in command, and utterly under her control.

Luckily, Nesta’s plan would coax Cassian into claiming the reins once more. As much as Illyrians valued strength, her Cassian enjoyed watching his mate take her pleasure. Nesta would give him an eye full- and he would have the chance to kiss her as hard as he wanted- just not on the lips.

Cassian sat up enough to push the blankets off and arranged his wings to lay flat. As requested, he slid a few inches towards the foot of the bed.

Nesta raised an eyebrow at the arrogance of her lover removing  _any_  bedcovers. While Cassian told her often he loved nothing more than the sight of her body, she sometimes enjoyed the soft intimacy of making love beneath the sheets. He was making his position clear without any discussion- he wanted her on display.

Three weeks since she’d last had him inside her, the furthest thought from Nesta’s mind was covering their bodies. Still, for him to decide alone and flash that predatory not-Cassian smirk…

“I was going to welcome you home first,” Nesta’s heard pounded at the way those Illyrian eyes burned as she approached. She raised a hand to lightly graze a nipple, drawing his focus to her breast. Cassian licked his lips. “ _However_ ,” she looked pointedly at the foot of the bed where her bedding lay in a heap, “I think  _you_  should greet  _me_  first and apologize for making this mess.”

“I’m sorry,” he taunted. There was no repentance in those eyes.

“That’s not the sort of apology I want.” She crawled onto the bed- but far up from Cassian’s almost fully erect member. Confusion lit his face, yet he still took a playful nip at her breast as she reached across his body.

The magic of that ever-burning candle caught the movement and gently held him. Slowly- everything had to be done slowly.

“Don’t worry,” Nesta purred when Cassian growled, “you’ll forget all about my breasts soon.”

“ _Never_.”

She paused to give one last direction eye-to-eye, “No teeth. You aren’t in control enough to be gentle right now.”

He gnashed his teeth, but she knew her words were marked and a boundary line had been drawn.

Nesta lifted a leg over Cassian’s head and turned to face the headboard. He took hold of her ankles and pulled them close around his neck as she settled in place. His hands shifted to her thighs and he helped brace her. He was positively drooling.

She lowered herself to his waiting mouth, mindful of his nose. Nesta didn’t want to smother him (a death Cassian would accept happily), but her mate wasn’t exactly cooperative. The moment her core was in range he tightened his grip on her thighs and began devouring her.

Cassian used his nose to part the folds of her entrance, and Nesta loosed a shuddering gasp. His tongue was on her immediately, swirling with the same ferocity and hunger that he’d shown in devouring her mouth. His arms stretched over her thighs, pulling most of her weight down onto his face as he parted her folds. The new angle drove the knot at the apex of her thighs right into the tip of his nose.

Initially Nesta’s body recoiled at the sudden, vicious assault of tongue upon her sex, but soon enough she felt herself waking to Cassian’s enthusiasm. Her legs were pinned in a vice grip, but with him beneath her rather than perched above it was far easier for Nesta to relax and let her core wake.

“There!” she squeaked when Cassian’s tongue traced along the inner curve of her entrance. He began moving his face against her, his breathing timed so that each inhale came while her knot was gently on his nose, before he surged forward and ground her against his mouth.

Nesta cried out and grabbed the headboard. The way he pinned her legs was no longer worrying, and she almost came entirely when Cassian loosed a low, approving growl at her building moisture. His hands returned to her thighs and his grip tightened nearly to the point of bruising as the Illyrian feasted on his mate.

Her hips began to move on their own as Cassian’s mouth sent shockwaves through her. Somehow she still felt him grinning. It was Nesta’s turn to lose control.

She took a hand off the headboard and grabbed her breast. If he wasn’t so focused on holding her against his mouth, Cassian would have teased her nipples in time with the movement of his tongue inside her. Nesta took the initiative and held them herself, perhaps a bit more forcefully than even a lust-crazed Cassian would ever have dared. Sparks of pleasure and pain radiated to the knot receiving most of her mate’s attention. 

Nesta’s focus began to narrow to the muscles of her hips and abdomen as they tightened, drawing her closer- closer-

White light sparked and her vision fractured, yet Nesta still heard Cassian moaning as she came. It was the rapture of a starving male presented with food, or someone lost in the wilderness finding themselves safely in familiar pasture. 

Most importantly, it was a moan more Cassian than Illyrian as the taste of Nesta on his tongue broke past even his most primal fae instincts. It was a salty-sweetness he had long since decided meant  _home_  and  _safe_  and  _loved_. A flavor etched into his soul as deeply as his vow to stop whenever she asked.

Nesta was only mildly aware of her own shuddering cry as her orgasm roared around her. The crushing grasp on her thighs eased, but all Cassian did was allow her to rise far enough for one of his hands to slide beneath her.

His thumb, broad and warm, was inside her, reaching and scraping along her inner wall until he found the small patch of ridged skin that marked a gathering of nerves. He dug in hard and slow as Nesta’s body began pulling away, hypersensitive and resistant to his touch.

Part of Cassian listened as Nesta gasped his name and tried to push him away. All it would take was ‘stop’ or ‘no’ and he would release her.

Those words never came. Even as Nesta pushed away from him (or tried to) she let his thumb ignite her core. A surprised scream of pleasure was the only warning Cassian was given as his nose, mouth, and hand forced her body to surrender one more tidal wave of release onto his eager tongue.

 _“Stop_ ,” she gasped. A brittle exhaustion coarsed through her. She was still twitching and shuddering around arcs of phantom pleasure that raced from the tips of her toes to her fingers, and pounded through both knot and nipples on its path.

What she did not feel, however, was the complete lack of force holding her against Cassian’s mouth. He was lightly tracing his fingers along Nesta’s calves. His nose was content to breath in the scent of her, and while he did slide his tongue from her core he kept a slow, gentle pressure swirling around the opening to remind her what she was sitting on.

Between crouching over her lover’s face and the blinding orgasm he granted her, Nesta could only tip back and fall across his chest. It freed his mouth, but he remained pinned beneath her… not that her weight was enough to render the Illyrian warlord immobile. His full suit of armor and weapons weighed more than she did.

One of Nesta’s hands reached blindly behind her until, somewhere in the middle of her hair, she found Cassian’s cock fully erect. She shifted the obstacle and began to stroke him, not fast or hard enough to grant him any relief, but with enough force to show him where she was going next.

It was a testament to Cassian’s steel will that he waited while Nesta gathered the strength to move. Her taste woke enough of him to keep his Illyrian instincts in check. It was the worst torture imaginable to have his female primed and ready, begging for his cock, and yet he couldn’t take her.

Even if her body was ready,  _she_  wasn’t. The small voice at the back of his roaring mind knew that if he gave leash to the Illyrian he may hurt Nesta with the intensity of that brute. Not physically of course, but- a trust would be broken. For him, it only mattered a little that Nesta’s body was wet and warm and waiting. Her heart and mind were more important, and they needed more time.

So the Illyrian waited, tense and eager, while the male lightly stroked Nesta’s legs to let her know he was in control.

Cassian’s instincts weren’t wrong- Nesta needed him. Three weeks- it might as well have been three  _months_  since she’d had him. She could imagine how good he would feel inside her… but he wasn’t the only one who could find salvation in his mate’s taste or feel empowered by the release drawn from their body.

Nesta caught her breath and willed her legs back under control. It was a delicious agony to move, but Cassian helped her plant her feet on either side of his head and use the bedframe to pull herself to her feet. She stepped over her mate once more and slid off the bed, mindful of his wings.

“You can touch anything but my head,” she waited until the Illyrian smirk faded and Cassian managed a nod. Candle or no- putting her mouth anywhere near his cock while he was steeped in battle-lust and still wrestling for control over his Illyrian instincts was asking for trouble.

“What if I want to touch your slit again? You can climb back onto my mouth.”

She rolled her eyes and crawled onto the bed until she’d reached her target. Cassian’s penis stood proud and tall, already swollen to its full length and girth. Nesta intended to make fun of her mate for drooling as she lowered herself onto him, but truth be told at the first whiff of Cassian’s beading precum she very nearly devoured him.

Back when Nesta was more focused on the horrible thought that  _Elain_  had a mate (and long before she was willing to admit Cassian was hers), she’d read every book she could find on the subject of fae and their soul-bound equals. Most of it just made her angry enough to pick fights with Cassian or fantasize about Lucien’s death, but there was a passage she’d read in horror- then recalled as soon as she felt her mating bond snap into place.

All kinks aside, mates were genetically programmed to favor one another’s taste. The brush of Cassian’s tongue against hers sent a thrill through her body. Licking the sweat off his skin didn’t disgust her, though she’d hated even the scent of it on that damnable brute Tomas Mandray. If she weren’t fae- or at least if she weren’t mated to Cassian- Nesta may very well have found the taste of Cassian’s semen unpleasant. 

At the very least she wouldn’t develop an actual  _craving_  for it.

Those thoughts always swirled in the back of her mind as she gently brushed her lips along his shaft and resisted touching the tip of her tongue to his cock. She could scent it so strongly, and even through the exhaustion of her own orgasms she felt a familiar throb of want. Delicate veins pulsed against her cheek as she rested it along the shaft, breathing in her mate. As much as her taste meant home to Cassian, his held the same place in Nesta’s heart. All because of her new fae body.

That scent meant he was home from the Illyrian civil war. Safe in her care. Nesta forgot any plans to torment him as she opened her mouth and sucked at the thin, soft skin that contained such incredible strength and heat. She loved the feeling of it- supple flesh around an iron core. Those small veins were thick and hard, making the flesh between seem all the more silken.

She took him in her mouth from the side and denied herself the tip for a moment longer. Cassian’s low moans mixed with hers, and he reached down to touch her shoulder with a heartbreaking gentleness. Nesta extended an arm up to his and Cassian held her hand tightly.

Her mouth ventured towards the base of his shaft and she lifted it in a free hand. The tip of her tongue traced the edge, where Cassian’s skin went from smooth to ridged. That path led her down to his testicles, which she sucked into her mouth one at a time and massaged gently with her tongue. The bead of precum dripped out into the slit of his cockhead. Nesta monitored it as she moved her attention from one side to the other and back again.

She moaned when his scent became too strong to resist, and Nesta was forced to release his testicle at last. Cassian began sucking at her fingertips and Nesta decided to take that as her guide.

The head of his cock was infinitely soft. The ridge of it was strong and thick- a perfect edge, and the perfect size for her to wrap her mouth around. She brought her lips to the slit and spread outwards from there, engulfing her mate without losing even a drop of precum. With only a little suction, Nesta ran her lips out to the farthest ridge of the head, then slipped back until the tip rested against closed lips.

Every time Cassian took one of her fingers into his mouth, Nesta extended her mouth to the edge of his cockhead, then withdrew with a slow, deliberate motion that made him growl and whimper at the same time. Only when he released her fingers did she move up and over his member.

Most of Cassian’s flavor was on her lips, and it drove Nesta wild to smell it so near. She pulled back enough to lick her hand, a trick she’d discovered early on in their relationship. A precursor to how mated couples respond to one another’s bodies, Cassian couldn’t endure Nesta’s touch if it was slick from her own cum or even spit. Just as Cassian’s mouth sent shockwaves of fire through her, her touch returned the wicked favor.

Nesta engulfed the head once more, but this time she pushed herself further, drawing him into her mouth and down the back of her throat until she couldn’t take anymore. She pulled back carefully, slowly, and let her teeth scrape against the veins and valleys of his shaft.

She stroked what did not fit into her mouth, and reveled in the cinnamon tang that began to fill her mouth, her  _world_. It made her throw caution to the wind, and Nesta took her mate as deeply and forcefully as the candle’s hold would allow. Cassian shivered at her touch, bucked his hips each time she pushed him into her heat, and when the tip of her tongue circled hard around the opening at its tip-

Even lost in battle-lust and his own pleasure, both the primal Illyrian and Cassian regretted the first rope of cum that shot into Nesta’s mouth as she lowered her lips once more around the head. He’d meant to warn her he was close, and even as he came the Illyrian stepped back for shock and shame and Cassian found his mind clear of its howl for the first time in weeks.

“ _Nes_ ,” he gasped and groaned and tried to pull her head from his still-erupting cock. She swatted him away and only sucked harder. Cassian threw his head back into the cushions (the candle evidently forgave him) and shuddered around her mouth. He filled her mouth with little room to spare by the time his cock finally slipped free, soft for now.

She didn’t look angry at the lack of warning. Now  _she_  was the one with the primal gleam in her eye as she swallowed every last drop.

There was something else Nesta would have never thought she’d enjoy. Swallowing the release of her mate. No matter how many times that old book passage swirled through her mind, she’d never believed the truth in it. Not until she tasted Cassian for the first time.

Nesta looked up and saw him-  _only him_ \- in those hazel eyes. She crawled up the bed as quickly as the magic would allow and crushed her mouth against his. The heat and passion of their kiss was cooler than the primal intent of the Illyrian, but infinitely more precious and sensual. His taste filled her mouth. Hers was thick on his tongue. Yet those two distinct flavors combined were the very same whole they would one day form. 

A blending, the joining of two to one that would occur when they finally mated.

“I missed you,” Cassian groaned as Nesta reached between them. She laid his still-soft cock against his stomach and used it to part her folds, grinding herself along the shaft.

“I missed your body, mostly.” Her smile brightened at the glimmer that filled Cassian’s eyes. He laughed, and it made her heart feel lighter than it had in weeks.

His cock began to harden between them, but there wasn’t a spark of lust in either fae. Only love and laughter and mischief. The only three things they ever needed to be happy.

Nesta wanted nothing more than for Cassian to roll her over and slide his cock through her entrance until her folds wrapped around it and the tip pressed against her knot. She wanted to see his skin flush with hers, a reminder of how beautifully they fit together. That perfect joining of bodies that could occur before he vanished inside her.

Cassian loved the delicate folds of her sex, Nesta loved the ridges of his cock, but when they made love he was the only one who could see his favorite parts.

Still, even if the Illyrian had gone for the moment it still needed to be reminded who had pouncing rights in the bedroom.

They tasted one another’s tongues and rolled their hips to wet Cassian’s cock with Nesta’s own moisture until he was hard as steel once more. It was Nesta who reached between them at last and pushed him inside her.

Her high-pitched whimper was matched by a sharp gasp as Nesta rocked back and Cassian slid in further. His eyes were wide and pleading as her heat enveloped him, drawing him in deeper and deeper with every roll of her hips. He could hardly breathe for fear that he would erupt then and there. Nesta’s mouth drifted out of reach as she closed her eyes and braced herself on his chest.

With slow sweeping motions she rotated her hips and stirred the cock inside her. The fullness would fade to a perfect, tight fit after only a moment as her body realized it had a visitor. Cassian reached a shaking hand to touch the soft drape of her lips to either side of his cock. Her knot was out of its hood, a beautiful pink pearl at the crest of his favorite treasure. He traced the soft hair of her mound, marveling at her warmth.

“Home.” He looked up and rested a thumb against her knot, “You are my home… but mostly because of your body.” Cassian pressed lightly as Nesta laughed.

“Only my body?”

“Yeah. What about me- you said you only love my body, right?”

“No,” Nesta’s face was serious as she began to rise up off his cock, “I actually love  _you_ , I’m not some shallow little Illyrian.” She wanted to let gravity drive him back into her, but the candle’s web would never allow it. Instead she braced her palms on his chest and began a torturously slow roll of her hips- something Cassian taught her in that very bed.

He sputtered in mock outrage that had her laughing as his hips rose to build the friction they both sorely needed. Cassian knew the pace was too slow for Nesta to reach climax, especially considering the shaking of her legs after he finished devouring her. He stroked her knot in time with her movements, coaxing it, helping her along.

“Well then, to make up for how  _shallow_  I am,” Cassian deliberately slammed his hips up on an off-beat, breaking their rhythm and reminding Nesta just how deep he could fit. She gasped and tightened her core around him.

Three weeks.  _Cauldron_ , how did they survive three weeks without one another?

One thing was sure- she never wanted to be without him again.

“Marry me,” Nesta panted.

“You’re asking this  _now_?” Cassian moaned, but through their slumbering bond she could  _feel_  the raw joy in his heart.

“My better judgement is clouded.”

She tightened again and Cassian cursed. He was close- they both were, “What will we tell the younglings about how we were engaged?”

“We’ll say that you’re  _really_  good in bed.” 

Cassian shook his head, “I can’t argue with that logic.” He laughed and a tear slipped down his cheek even as he felt Nesta shuddering around him, “Fine, witch, I’ll marry you.”

Wonder filled her eyes, “Really?”

“Really.” He pulled her down into a long, slow kiss. Her knot ground against his shaft and soon that shuddering turned into a full-blown quake as she came. Cassian held her tight, and used every trick he knew to stave off his own release. If they came together- a simple enough feat for mates- he knew they would both throw themselves into that bond and ignite it once and for all.

But Cassian was a bit of an old fashioned male- he wanted to marry Nesta properly first.

She erupted around him with a shout of pleasure, then kept riding him until he slammed home one last time and began filling her.

“Welcome home,” she murmured as his cries turned to gasps and the tension eased from his body.

“I love you. And not just because of your body.” Cassian’s arms were still secure around her, holding his new bride-to-be against his chest.

“I love you too.”

“Not just for my body?”

Nesta shook her head, “Not just for your body, but also for what’s in here.” She tapped a finger over his racing heart.

“Oh… so you have a skeleton fetish? Interesting.”

She rose with a squeak of indignation and crossed her arms, “I take it back. I don’t want to marry you.”

“No take-backsies on marriage proposals.”

“Says who?”

“Says everyone,  _Nesta_.”

“And who is this ‘everyone’,  _Cassian_?”

They continued to bicker and make love in slow, sweet thrusts until hunger forced them from Nesta’s room.

Neither even noticed the candle had long since gone out.

 


End file.
